


cellophane

by reginleiv



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23115922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginleiv/pseuds/reginleiv
Summary: In the darkness, you want badly to forget. And so he lets you.
Relationships: Dirk Strider/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	cellophane

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted to my hs writing blog, yanderehs.tumblr.com!

“You scared?” he asks, and you shake your head in response, quietly as though you’re afraid to disturb the complete silence that surrounds you. He smiles at you, softly, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear as he leans down to stare at you, his face merely inches away from yours. “Liar,” he whispers, the word laced with an obvious mirth.

“You’re trembling,” he notes with a hint of concern, and in his words, you are suddenly very aware of your body’s reaction. Trembling and shaking even through the thickness of your clothes, as though it is still remembering the eerie chill from a few hours ago.

He places a comforting hand against your shoulder, but the suddenness of it all nearly makes you jump out of your own skin. He sees the jerk of your body and apologizes, voice smooth and silky as he traces light circles against your skin, urging you to relax and give in. You sigh and close your eyes, feeling yourself gradually relaxing under his touch.

His hands, warm like the morning sunlight peeking through the slant of your windows, are a welcome distraction, a complete contrast to all the rooms in this rotting house: cold and bitter and awful. You do not complain when he lets them wander, roam up and down your sides like a curious explorer. Instead, you make a pleasant sound in your throat, relaxing even more under his touch. Waiting, wanting. Waiting and wanting for more.

He hums under his breath, pleased with your reaction. Tracing little circles against your bare arm, you lean against him, unconsciously chasing his attention. This is nice, you think, your eyes still peacefully closed as you heave a sigh of relief. This is really nice.

“I try my best,” he replies with a quiet chuckle, and your eyes immediately flutter open to look at him, zeroing in on his face to study his reaction. There’s a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes, and all too suddenly, you feel shameful, embarrassed, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. 

You open your mouth to apologize, to say something, anything to keep the attention off of you, but no words would come spilling out. They remain hidden in the back of your throat, as elusive as the answers you seek the moment you first step into this house. Oh, no, you think, horrified, startled by the realization that comes crashing through you like a tide. You have made a complete fool of yourself. Said something you weren’t supposed to say, and now, surely, he must think of you as an idiot. A foolish woman he could make fun of if he wants to.

But he shakes his head, silences you with a finger to your lips, almost as though he does not need an answer from you at all. “It’s alright,” he whispers with a smile, squeezing your arm in reassurance. Warm, you think, recalling the way his fingers felt on your skin. Warm like sunlight. Warmer than anything else in this forsaken house.

He glances briefly at the door before turning back to look at you, his eyes roaming on your face, gaze lingering briefly on your lips before locking his eyes with yours. There’s a light in his eyes, dancing like fireflies in a dark night, and there’s a question on the tip of his tongue, one he does not dare say aloud.

He keeps his eyes on yours and waits, patient and intent. And all the while, you could feel his hands on your skin, his fingers warm against your bare arm, comforting and inviting. It is an easy distraction from all the horrors you’ve seen in this house, an easy distraction from all the paralyzing fear that has begun to grip your heart and claim you as a part of it. The blood on the walls, the wailing in the hallways, the scratches on the floor — you want to forget it. All of it.

In your eyes lies the permission he needs and as he stares at you, he gradually begins to understand. When he leans in, he is slow and deliberate, giving you a final chance to turn away and back down. A choice. But you remain still on the bed, your breath hitching in your throat as you wait and wait and wait. He takes your face in his hands, his thumb tracing gentle little circles against your cheek and moves, closer and closer, until you could practically feel his breath fanning against your lips.

And when his lips finally descend on yours, you melt under him in hopes you can forget. He kisses you then, slowly, tenderly, savoring the feeling of your lips against his. He reminds you too much of the sun, you think, as you close your eyes and kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His lips are warm as the rest of him, and as he holds your face in his hands, tenderly like a lover, you imagine you are on a grassy field on a hot, summer day, bathed in the warmest sunlight.

He pulls away from you after a moment, grinning a little too wickedly, and all too soon, he is back to his usual self: playful and mischievous and unreadable, so distant and so far away even when he is practically inches away from you. “Oh, no,” he begins, his voice loud and dramatic in the quiet of the house. “What would everyone else think?”

You look at him, curious, wondering where he’d go with this. He laughs at the obvious confusion in your face, eyes still twinkling with unmistakable mischief. “What would they think if they see the two of us together? An unmarried woman with another man in bed, doing all the things they shouldn’t! In the dead of the night, no less!”

There’s a familiarity in his voice, teasing and playful and too much like him, and any other time you’d have joined in on the fun, trading playful banter and meaningless insults with him like you’ve known each other a long time and he isn’t just another stranger to you that you’ve had the chance of encountering in your desire to escape. But this isn’t any other time.

You’ve seen too much today, woke up to more horrors waiting for you outside your room, stirring the fear that sleeps within the depths of your stomach. “Shut up,” you say, though it comes out less threatening than you would have liked, breathless and weightless against the air that surrounds you. You pull him closer, pull him back toward you, his face hovering just inches above yours. “Shut up.”

He complies, obeys you without hesitation. He knows what you want, of course; he could see it in your eyes, reflected brightly like the flames of the hearth, and he does not hesitate to give it. He leans in again and kisses you, shorter and sweeter this time. A taste of what’s to come, a promise of what he can do. And then he pulls away, kisses his way down your lips to your neck: bare and unmarked and untouched.

He presses tender kisses all over your neck, his lips like liquid heat against your skin. He grazes his teasingly against your collarbone and then slowly lets them sink, digging through the tender flesh, possessive and territorial. For the night, he claims you as his, sucking and licking at the mark he’s given you, presses his lips ever so gently against it as if to soothe the pain away.

You only barely register the pain of his teeth digging through your skin, too focused on everything else: the feeling of his hands on your body, sneaking inside your shirt and feeling you up in all your naked glory. His fingers ghosting up and down, light enough to make you shiver, and just enough to make you want for more.

In the darkness, you feel his hands wandering lower and lower, fingers fumbling for the zipper of your shorts, and in the silence, you note how warm his hands are, comforting and familiar like they have always belonged there: on your skin and on your body, touching you in all ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

He does not stop pressing kisses all over your skin, does not stop trying to mark whatever he could reach: your neck and then your jaw, on the corners of your mouth and then on your eyelids, fluttering close as he finally touches you, dipping a finger into your folds and wallowing at the warmth of you against him.

You sigh out his name, your voice soft and breathy and tender in the silence. With his lips all over your face and his hands everywhere at once, it is almost too easy to forget. The house and the ghosts who live in it, quiet and hidden in the shadows, watching and waiting. Listening and observing, creeping slowly into closed rooms and dull minds, feeding off of the fear that dwells within.

From behind your closed eyelids, you could see a flash of images in front of you, vague and blurry and yet somehow still strikingly familiar. Recalling all the sight you’ve seen and revisiting all the horrors you’ve experienced, from the bloodied walls to the torn up floorboards down to the broken plates scattered on the kitchen — a silent reminder that you have never truly escaped from everything you’re trying to run away from. 

But then he touches you again and the feeling of his fingers against you, exploring every inch of your body, is enough to dissipate everything else in your mind. There is only this and him and nothing else. This feeling, this sensation, unique only to him and nothing else. No one else.

He presses up into you a little more, a little deeper, and all too quickly, you are lost in him once more, the growing fear inside you swallowed up by your own maddening desire. He adds another finger in, stretching you open, desperate to make you forget. He keeps his eyes locked on your face, staring and watching, memorizing every expression that crosses your face. The little detail that stands out in this moment, barely noticeable anytime else: the sweat beading down your skin, glistening in the dark; the heat of your body beneath his palm, rising and rising like a fire about to burst; and the gasp spilling out of your trembling lips, keening dangerously into a loud whine with each movement of his fingers.

He leans down and takes your earlobe beneath his teeth: nibbling, nipping, biting, teasing you again and again in an attempt to see more of your reactions. He wants to see you tremble, wants to see you shake, wanting more and more of him. Wanton and wanting, wanting and waiting.

The sounds spill out of your lips once more, familiar. Louder now and deafening, especially in the eerie silence of this house. A choked moan that gradually forms into his name, beautiful and melodic to his ears. Like music, though he would never admit the secret out loud. It grows louder and louder, rising higher and higher as his pace quickens. Threatening to disturb the rotten peace that surrounds this house, threatening to disturb the eerie quiet that guards this whole land.

Threatening to disturb the sleep of your neighbors, sleeping in the room next to yours, completely alert to all the horrors that come alive at night. He curls his fingers upward, and the feeling of his nails brushing lightly against your walls is nearly enough to make you scream. As though he is anticipating this, he quickly muffles your noises with his mouth, capturing your lips with his in a kiss and swallowing every sound down his throat.

He does it again and again and again, adding another finger in and curling them upward stretching you open for him, desperate to make you come apart. And all the while he distracts you with a kiss, wet and sloppy and heated, growing more and more intense as he loses himself in the sensation.

He could feel your body trembling against him, could hear you moaning into the kiss, muffled and incoherent as you moan his name over and over again. A vague warning, he guesses, and it is only later does he finally realize it for what it is; wrapping your arms around him, you dig your nails into his skin, sharp and painful as you try to find something to anchor you.

It’s too much, too heavy, too overwhelming all at once that it doesn’t take you long to fall apart. With his mouth still on yours, he swallows every little noise that escapes your lips, from the keening whines down to the choked-out moans, selfish and greedy, wanting to keep your wanton melody all to himself.

When you come down from your high, you sag back against the bed, chest rising and falling as you struggle to catch your breath. Closing your eyes, you let the silence wash over you. In this moment, it does not feel eerie and haunting, the way it always seems to do; instead it feels different: normal and comforting, something you could get used to for a long time.

He pulls away from you and you almost whine at the loss of him, suddenly missing the warmth of his body against yours. And yet, you could still feel him near you, hovering closely like a shadow. Opening your eyes, you see him looming just above you, his face still inches away from yours.

He catches your eyes and smiles, his lips quirking slightly upward as though in amusement. You expect him to say something: an unfunny joke, a wry observance, or a cheesy pun the way he always does after something happens, but he remains quiet and tongue-tied, the words stuck somewhere in his throat and completely forgotten.

But he hums, softly, quietly, pleasantly, like a lullaby in the strange night. Tucking a stray hair behind your ear, he leans down to plant a chaste kiss against your forehead. He wishes you a good night then, wishes you to have the sweetest dreams, and you don’t even realize how exhausted you are until he whispers the words against your ear, his voice too soft and too quiet that you’re almost convinced you are merely dreaming.

**Author's Note:**

> if you wanna see more of me, go check out yanderehs.tumblr.com! (i take requests and also dont bite!)


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